


On Skin

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn
Genre: Alternate or Missing Scene, Darkfic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pastiche, RelationShipping 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: “Let’s hurt together,” she said.“Yes,” I replied. We’re already doing that, I thought. And surrendered.





	On Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



“You know how people sometimes say they have to hurt because if they don’t, they’re so numb they won’t feel anything?”

“Mmm.” I was coming down hard from the X, and I was feeling desolate, empty. I hoped Amma would think I was already half-asleep. Then maybe she’d stop talking and leave me in peace.

No such luck.

“What if it’s the opposite?” Amma whispered, relentless. “What if you hurt because it feels so good? Like you have a tingling, like someone left a switch on in your body. And nothing can turn the switch off except hurting? What does that mean?”

I tried to pretend to be asleep. I tried to pretend not to feel her fingers tracing _vanish_ over and over on the back of my neck. But I couldn’t pretend anymore when those fingers ran like red-hot iron ingots down my spine and slid beneath my t-shirt, over the jut of my right hipbone ( _queasy_ began tingling), and straight into my underwear.

 _Wicked_ , the first word I’d ever carved into myself at the tender age of thirteen, the same age as Amma now, was humming with anticipation.

“C’mon, Camille. Let me,” Amma said.

I should’ve known better. No, I _did_ know better. But I let her do it anyway.

She was not gentle. Her fingernails scraped my sensitive inner tissues with just enough force to be intentional, not inadvertent, and her fingers pulled and pinched, figuring out exactly how close to the line she could get before I’d yelp and slap her hand away. She knew her business with a woman’s body, though—why was I not surprised? Her first two fingers crooked inside of me while the pad of her thumb rubbed random patterns into my clitoris. Was she writing something? No, maybe not. Maybe I was just—

I came, hard and fast, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. Tears leaked out from the corners of my eyes.

I rolled over to face her. She lay flat on her back, and she’d already kicked her underwear off. Liquid, doe-like eyes, melon breasts that belonged on a woman twice her age, sparse, honey-blonde thatch of pubic hair. Her hand was between her legs. I brushed her hand away and began to touch her myself. _Freak_ on my left calf sighed. I kissed her.

Amma’s mouth was sour, like wine turned to vinegar, and salty-sweet, like smoked ham and brown sugar. The taste made me want to vomit, but I didn’t stop kissing her. I didn’t stop touching her, either. She was hot and wet and swollen and so very, very eager. Yes, she was mine to conquer. _Milk_ , _oven_ , _castle_ , and _omen_ all hummed in unison. She arched into my touch, broke our kiss. She clutched at my shirt, pressed her face into my collarbone, teeth chattering. She whimpered as she came.

And we still weren’t done. Amma tore into my clothes like a savage beast, ripping, shredding them to ribbons, and pinning my bared body beneath her own. The blood from the wound to my head was starting to flow again, too. This seemed to excite her further. She was heavy, and she was powerful, and she was demanding my unconditional submission.

“Let’s hurt together,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. We’re already doing that, I thought. And surrendered.

Skin on skin, entangled. Pain and pleasure combined, sharp and bright as a stainless steel razor blade. My words had become incoherent, an incomprehensible cacophony of deafening, silent screaming.

 

* * *

 

A dream?

Marian, her white nightgown sticky with sweat, a blonde curl pasted across her cheek. She takes my hand and tries to pull me from the bed. Beside me, Amma mutters and fusses in her sleep.

“It’s not safe for you here,” Marian whispers. “It’s not safe for you.”

I wrap my arms tight around Amma and tell Marian to leave me be.

 

* * *

_~ The End ~_

* * *


End file.
